


Red Scarves

by The_Exile



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Dark Comedy, F/F, Family, Fire, Intoxicants, Magic, Protectiveness, Senses, Swearing, escort quest with competent escortee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 02:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Exile/pseuds/The_Exile
Summary: What should be a day of shopping and rest in a busy city's marketplace quickly goes south when assassins, after ex-Empress Marciana, catch up with her and her mercenary bodyguard Jeanne. Still, it's about more than contractual loyalty for Jeanne by now, and she'll follow her beloved Marcy to the ends of the Earth and the heavens beyond if needs be.Doesn't mean she won't gripe about it all the way there, though.





	Red Scarves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mautadite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/gifts).

"Surprise! I bought us matching scarves."

"Thanks," Jeanne grunted, taking the red silk scarf from the other woman's hands and throwing it around her lithe, powerful shoulders in one flourish, leaving one end of it trailing at a jaunty angle. Marcy seemed suitably impressed, even though hers was of course elegantly swathed around her slender build, matching the braids of jet black hair that fell down one shoulder. Jean kept her hair very closely cropped, finding it more trouble than it was worth most of the time, so the accessory had a very different effect on the two women, "I heard you haggling for it over the other end of the marketplace. Nice job not drawing attention to yourself."

"I'm not exactly the only person shouting at the top of their voice, darling, in case you haven't noticed," she gestured at the raucous crowds and the general chaos around every stall, the multitude of vibrant colours, the mix of people from all walks of life, travelled here to the trade city-state of Casandora from all over the world to ply their wares. A cloud of grey-blue smoke with a spicy aroma exuded from a corner of the square which was slightly covered by silk curtains. A bright red and green bird flapped past, squawking indignantly as a merchant ran after it with its open cage, flailing ineffectually at it with a net. Jeanne herself lounged on top of a wall, back against the corner, one hand on her crossed leg, close enough to the pommel of her greatsword for her comfort. In her other hand she held a tankard of ale that had the rest of her attention not taken up by looking for threats. The alcohol was working fairly well at dulling the pain in her head from all the clamour and the stress of the last few weeks. She couldn't get truly rat-arsed, not while she was still on the job, but she knew how much liquor she could hold without it affecting her danger sense.

"If anything, I would look out of place if I was silent, would I not?" continued Marcy, formerly the Empress Marciana, "The only ones silent here are those who do not want to be noticed. The vagrants and vagabonds. In other words, the ones frequently approached and taken into custody by the town guards."

"Yeah, yeah, smart-ass. Try not discussing how suspicious you aren't at the top of your voice," the mercenary hissed in an emphasised whisper, "And stop spending our money on frivolities. In case you haven't noticed, our supplies are running out, we've got no way of making more money, we're gonna have to leave again soon."

"I know, we need to stay on the move. Although I do not see why we cannot blend into a place as large and impersonal as this."

"Because you can't blend in to save your life?" Jeanne grunted. 

To be fair on the woman, she was a lot better than she was. She'd sold most of her jewels and other finery, the silk robes and fur gloves and doeskin slippers, swapping them for fine quality but unremarkable-looking travel clothes, customised with a few accessories that a wandering student mage would have. It was impossible to hide that you had arcane talent, especially from another mage, so the official story was that she was a student of the Academy in her journeying years. Not that she could hide that she wasn't a student from anyone with access to records or even just a good understanding of how students behaved, but then people didn't generally notice or care about student mages. It would be understandable for someone mostly living on the Academy campus to be a little naive, a mature student wouldn't be that unusual and Marcy could talk arcane technical terminology with the best of them. She occasionally used Far Eastern Isles expressions rather than the local terms but this could be explained away as an obscure specialism.

When they first met, it was a different question. Empress Marciana, recently fled from the Imperial Court with only the clothes on her back, which happened to be worth enough to buy a small village, pursued by master assassins hired by her youngest sister, barely had the practical skills of a four-year-old. What she did have was a lifetime of strict ceremonial behaviour that Jeanne Sutherland of the Roc Mercenary Clan did not understand how anyone could actually follow and stay alive. She could barely move or breathe except in the exact correct way or they'd have to execute and replace all the hundreds of servants in the Imperial Palace. An unexpected fart would probably be seen as a sign of an immanent Apocalypse, there was so much religious import given to her every action as practically a Living Demigoddess. That combined with the fact that her family trying to poison, backstab or politically manipulate her into suicide was a daily occurrence, made Jeanne worry if her apart disgrace and banishment was a lucky escape. Whatever the case, those first few weeks, when she was incapable of doing most practical things for herself and afraid for her immortal soul if she did the other things, were hell for both of them. 

If it wasn't for that light she saw in the woman's eyes, the radiance in her smile, the sway of her hips and the curves of her body under the tight-fitting robes she liked to wear whenever she could get away with it, her scent, more exotic and intoxicating than that damn smoke that was making Jeanne's head spin, the mercenary would have no idea why the hell she would take such a commission. It wasn't the money, even though the payment had included a ruby the side of her fist. It wasn't like she could easily fence a jewel that size, not when the circles she would have to travel in probably included everyone out to kill them now, especially when the damn thing was allegedly cursed. No, there were... personal reasons she hung around for really not enough pain. Reasons that hadn't really come up before, that felt rather out of character for her. However much she cursed and drank, they didn't go away. 

"In any case, we should head to the inn for food..." declared Marcy. Jeanne cut her off with a hissed warning, hand going to sword hilt. 

They were being watched. Whoever was trailing them did not have pleasant intentions. She could tell by their stances, how they breathed, the formation they took as they slowly began to surround the two. They'd looked like any other cloaked, hooded strangers trying to hide their identity - the city of Casandora was full of them and almost all of them had nothing to do with Jeanne and Marcy. It had been a subtle shift, like the sudden tension in a calm sky before a lightning storm.

Trained assassins again, Jean recognised. Top tier hires from the local Guild, not direct agents of Marcy's sister. They would do anything to catch their prey, although they would generally avoid too much collateral damage in their own city unless absolutely necessary. One was reaching for throwing daggers, probably poisoned. Jeanne shoved Marcy to one side, trying to ignore the effect of the sensation of holding her close. The ex-Empress immediately glared in the direction of the attack, snapped her fingers and conjured a shield of arcane force around herself. Seconds later, orbs of flame shot from her fire-wreathed hands as she yelled something very intimidating-sounding in her native tongue.

Jeanne swore again.

"Don't set the whole place on fire!" she barked. Reaching for her own throwing daggers hidden in her leather gauntlets and long boots, she threw them and hit two of the cloaked attackers, dropping them, a spray of blood gushing from arteries. The fireballs had hit another, who screamed and ran, catching a cloth merchant's stall alight. Already chaotic, havoc rippled through the crowds in all directions. Jeanne grabbed the other woman's hand and practically dragged her down a side alley. Guards were pursuing them now, as well as the remaining assassins. With the Guild's licensed activities not actually entirely illegal, as long as they did not interfere with the wider peace of the city, the blame would likely be directed at the foreigners causing so much trouble they managed to get assassin's contracts on their head.

They had to leave the city. Fast. Again. 

Jeanne had liked Casandora. She'd fantasised about settling down with Marcy, buying a small house, plying a trade that involved slightly less travelling around killing people. Maybe they could even adopt a street urchin, teach the kid to be as messed up as them and have a happy, if twisted, family. Casandora really was big enough that, with a little luck, they might possible be able to blend into the crowd.

Luck was not something that either of them had been blessed with, the past month or so. Jeanne was wondering if it really was catastrophically bad luck for Marciana to do anything wrong, ever. Maybe the world was ending and it was technically Jeanne's fault - or at least, she'd get blamed for it as usual when it came to the Reckoning. 

Feeling Marciana pressed close to her, shivering beneath her robes like a bird, albeit a bird with a vicious peck on her in the form of arcane lightning, Jeanne knew that, if it really came down to the End of the World, she was ready to stab some Gods if they looked at Marcy wrong.


End file.
